For years, revenge was all Isabella Swan could think about after the murder of her father; revenge against the King. There's one standing obstacle, of course - the King's son, who is dead-set on capturing the infamous outlaw in the name of justice. They fall in love against all odds; but will he still love her when all the lies are revealed?

**When I originally started this story, I thought that the medieval times lasted until the 16th century. Guess who's wrong? THIS GIRL! *points to self* So please ignore any historical mistakes, they were made when I was foolishly uninformed. Just imagine that they are still part of the medieval ages.**

A/N: So this'll probably be the last time I do an author's note in the beginning of a chapter but I'm just gonna explain the layout of Brigand, also the rating. There'll be three acts which is basically parts. Scenes are the chapters. I based it kind of off of plays. I have a basic plan of Act One and I can already see Brigand being a long one. I thought about it for a while now and I figured I would rate it M, just to be on the safe side. I will not be writing any explicit lemons or anything like that since I am nowhere near comfortable, but it may or may not be implied. Some scenes may or may not be graphic as well as there is some rough language. So yeah. Read on!

DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING ABOUT TWILIGHT. I do own three empty water bottles in my room, though.

ACT ONE

Scene I

Isabella Swan paid no attention to the wriggling mass of flesh tied up on the damp soil as she prepared her things. A glint of pleasure flitted through her eyes before it disappeared just as quickly. Perhaps her warped sense of pleasure for torture was morbid, but it was twisted after all.

"You sick bitch!" The man snarled from the ground, still struggling to break free from his bonds.

Isabella just sighed tiredly, rubbing the back of her hand on her brow. "You're a pesky fellow, aren't you? Very squirmy – but you have a good reason to be, right?" She asked, more to herself rather than the pathetic excuse of a man on the grass. She clicked her tongue. "Such crass language coming from such a noble man." She grinned maniacally at the writhing bloke on the ground.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" He growled, showing no fear. If felt it, he was hiding it very well. But Isabella was patient. More so, clever.

"I am Isabella Swan." She laughed at the colour draining from the man's face, but humour was void of her voice. She normally would not reveal her true name unless the person was to die. "Oh, Sir Vladimir, it's not about what I want from you." A flash of confusion flashed across his face. "It's what your corpse can do for me."

Immediately, Vladimir paled but quickly composed himself. He was a slimy man, used to threats and intimidation, but he usually had his band of guards at his disposal. Isabella had crept into his tower room late in the night and stole him away from safety.

"And what may my corpse do for you?" He tried to say with as much confidence as he could muster, but it wasn't much as she casually cleaned her dagger that dripped of blood from a previous kill. He gulped quite visibly, trying to clear his throat of the lump that lodged itself in his gullet. Vladimir didn't know that it was just deer blood.

Isabella smirked evilly. "Why, Sir Vladimir, do you want to know? Because you want to know how you will die?" She answered for him, not letting the man respond. "I will make you suffer as much as you possibly can while you are still alive. I will let your body bleed out on the forest floor where no one can hear you plead for mercy as I carve, maim, distort – choose your favourite word – your body until it is beyond recognition. You will not get an honourable death because you are far from being worthy of it. I would know since I don't deserve one either; I am a bad person, just like you. And while your pleas of mercy fall on deaf ears, you'll choke on your own blood. How does that sound to you?" She smiled innocently while Vladimir struggled to keep his own bile down.

"You – you'll never get away with this." He choked out. "When the guards find my body, they'll be hell to pay. And trust me; they will find my body. There will be no escape from this. You will regret it." Sir Vladimir's voice grew with confidence as he spoke and Isabella didn't like it. Not one bit.

Isabella chuckled before stifling it. "Sir Vladimir. You do not understand me. I want your body to be found. Quite simple. That's all the use will be to me."

"What is this about?" He snapped. "Is it money? Wealth? Revenge? You let me go – and I won't say a peep to anyone, - I can help you. Money; easy. Revenge; simple." He bartered quickly, a dribble of sweat trickling down his neck. He figured that filthy outlaws like her would respond to his offers, but Isabella would not be easily swayed.

Isabella laughed again; the man was quite humorous and dense. The thrill of a kill always made her giddy with giggles. "Sir Vladimir, do you truly believe you can weasel your way out of this?" She steeled her face, instantly becoming dangerous, lethal and capable of killing anyone; which was accurate, because she has killed a thousand strong men without as much as a scratch on her. "I am dead set on your death tonight, Sir Vladimir. Plead, barter, and beg all you want, but you will not be going back to the castle alive."

Vladimir changed tactics as quick as a viper. "You cannot do this! I am the King's Senior Baron!"

"And that is why you must die." She said bluntly. "If you must know, Sir Vladimir, your purpose is to prove a point I am trying to put out to the King. I am strong. I have ways. He should not doubt my capabilities. Not like the pitiful excuse of a warrior you call Stefan who died slowly for protecting such disgusting swine. You are one of the most heavily guarded men in the kingdom –besides the King, of course – so who is better to put that point across? Besides; you have always been a terrible baron." Isabella unsheathed her dagger, gleaming in the moonlight that filtered in through the foliage of the surrounding forest that was void of life except for her and her captive. "Any last words?"

"I have a family!" Vladimir was now on his knees but still bound. Tears streamed down his face freely, though they were just an act. "What about my wife? My three children? My grandchildren!"

She guffawed once again and hopefully for the last time. It may be night but it was dead silent. Anyone could hear her manically laughing. Then she shot forward, grasping his long, braided beard and pulling him forward. He shrieked in pain but stopped as he felt the tip of her dagger at his throat.

"I'm tired of your lies, Vladimir. I've been watching and learning. You murdered your own wife and have a dozen mistresses. You've beaten your children to a pulp and it'll be a gift to rid you of their children so they don't have to know what scum they have for a grandfather." She growled in his face and pushed him back into the tree. "You have just given me more reason to kill you, Sir Vladimir. I commend you for that."

Vladimir was now shivering in fear, his long, gangly frame quivering against the tree as if he could melt into the bark and hide away from the crazy woman that held him hostage.

"Help! Someone, help me, please!" He shouted out, writhing in his bonds even more. Isabella just went to his side and placed her dagger on his mouth, cutting around his top lip and prying the wound open with her fingers.

He sank down onto the cold grass and groaned in pain. "Would you shut up?" Isabella snapped. He groaned again and Isabella plunged her dagger into his left thigh, making him howl. She twisted the blade, her cold eyes never leaving his.

"Make it stop! Make it stop, you bitch!" He shouted.

Isabella slapped him hard in the cheek with the back of her hand, making him sink further into the ground. She withdrew the knife from his thigh and wiped the blood on his trousers. She glanced up, peering through the slight crack of the foliage to see the moon. Isabella cursed under her breath; she had too much time.

If she left for the castle too early, there would be too many guards on look-out, thus resulting in her rotting in jail.

She thought for a moment, playing with her dagger knowing that Vladimir's eyes were trained on it warily. "Alright, Vladimir, I have time. Why don't we play a game?"

He stared at her suspiciously. "Aren't you old for games?" He blurted out then immediately regretted it. Vladimir knew what the crazed woman was capable of and that she was cruel enough to go through with it.

Isabella placed her hands on her hips, feigning to be insulted. "Why, Sir Vladimir, are you suggesting that I am old? Do you not have a brain in that giant skull of yours? Of course you don't," she cut him off before he could answer. "If you did, you wouldn't have left your window open."

"I was not implying such thing –"

She huffed. "I'm sure you weren't. But let's get to the game." She placed her dagger on the rope that bonded him, registering his breath hitching in fear. To his surprise, she cut through his binds. "Unravel yourself." She instructed as she unslung her bow.

Sir Vladimir un-wrapped the ropes from around himself, letting it drop to the ground. He rubbed his forearms, which were throbbing painfully. He thought about escaping now that he was free, but Isabella had the upper-hand. He admitted that his position never demanded much physical exertion and that he was out of shape; she could easily catch up. Also, she handled the recurve bow as if it was nothing, stringing it easily and nocking an arrow to the string within seconds.

"Okay Sir Vladimir, that should be enough time for you to mull your thoughts over. The game is called Run. You will run - and I'll even give you an extra ten seconds since I'm feeling generous – in that direction," she pointed over to where the thick bushel of trees thinned, "and will not stop. You may run in the other direction, but there is a very large cliff that drops into shallow water there. You will certainly die if you happen to fall. You go any other way, and I will shoot. Got it?"

Vladimir nodded slowly, but his head was swimming with questions. "What is the purpose of this?"

"Oh Vladimir, what is the purpose of any game?" She joked. "It is for entertainment. This is for my amusement. I have too much time on my petite, deadly hands. Are you ready? I'm giving you a chance to escape, so you better prepare yourself." She lied. She wasn't letting him escape; but she let him hope for a second. Isabella nearly whooped in happiness when she saw the hope flash in his eyes. She would enjoy crushing the man under her boot.

"Will–will you be shooting?" He asked, stuttering.

Isabella smirked. "Of course I will be. Just to demonstrate…" She scanned the horizon, spying a branch sticking out about fifty meters downhill. "Do you see that branch?" He nodded. "Watch."

She raised her arms, pulling the arrow to full draw. She aimed down the sight and steadied, holding her breath. Then she let go, waiting for the sound of the arrow hitting the branch. It sunk cleanly into the wood with a thwack. For any other archer without her skill, their shot would whistle cleanly into the darkness. The whole sequence took only three seconds.

"That could be you, right in your heart." Isabella stated. Vladimir's heart sank, knowing that he will very well die by a bloody arrow shot by a woman that could not be older than her sixteenth winter. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, sweat beading down his neck. His limbs felt like jelly though he didn't move an inch and his vision was blurring, though he hadn't breathed a breath.

"Go!" She yelled, pushing him forward.

Vladimir stumbled up the hill, counting the seconds he had before she would start shooting.

One…

He pushed himself harder, his boots cracking the branches under his heel and dodging foliage that stuck out in the path. Eerie sounds erupted all around him as if he stirred up demons in his wake, making him run faster.

Two… Three…

His heart soared in hope as he made considerable distance in the time. He could imagine the trees parting way to the gravel road, out of sight of the demon-woman that could no longer hurt him. Liquid trickled down his leg as he ran.

Four… Five… Six…

Vladimir realized that the liquid dripping down his leg was his blood from the dagger wound. His vision filled with red, anger seeping into his bones. As soon as he got out of her grasp, he thought, he would ensure that she was thrown in prison, leaving her to rot.

Seven… Eight… Nine…

His head start was nearly up. Despite the pain flaring in his leg, he pushed himself harder. His lungs struggled to pull in more air and he felt like dying of the exertion, but he forced his legs to continue pumping. He could almost see the light trickling in and the entrance of the forest coming into view.

Ten.

Something whistled through the air and he swayed to the side. Whether it was because his vision was fading or because of his instincts were screaming at him, he thanked every god that just saved him from considerable death as the arrow just nicked his ear where it should have lodged in his brain. Confidence of escaping escalated in his chest.

THWACK!

Vladimir was pushed forward from the impact of an arrow in his right calf. He grunted as he hit the muddy ground, wincing and groaning in pain that shot up his leg. His consciousness waded in and out of his reach and he thought he saw his dead wife, looking at him in disgust. Then he spat where she would be, but his spit only hit the grass.

The sound of something squished registered in his mind and he moaned, trying to feebly crawl away into the bushes. But something grabbed his heel, dragging him backwards. His eyes flew open, frantically searching the area for something to latch onto.

He wrapped his arms around the trunk of a tree. Relief entered his body as the wench stopped dragging him, but he felt something crush his arms and he let go in pain, groaning.

Vladimir felt a finger push his head upwards. "Up." He scrambled backwards, his back hitting a tree. His whole body flared in agony and he shivered violently against the tree.

Isabella stared down at his distastefully, thought she was quite impressed. The bloody bastard ran faster than she expected; but when he had the chance to escape and a savage woman had an arrow ready to be lodged into his body, she figured that he would sprint for his life.

Sir Vladimir got closer to the forest edge than she would have liked, but she thought positively. She wouldn't have to drag his body too far to get to her trusty steed, that's for sure. She brought her things with her as she trekked after him when he went down.

Vladimir moaned and shivered, making Isabella roll her eyes, another one of her un-lady-like tendencies. "Stop your cowering, you bloody bastard. You're disgraceful. I gave you a chance and you completely ruined it." She rummaged in her pack while keeping her ears open. "Now that we're done with that time-wasting game, we can get on with the important matters at hand." Her fingers wrapped around the small vial.

"Tell me Sir Vladimir; do you know what this is?" She held the sickly green vial up to his face as she dipped her dagger into it. She withdrew the blade and held it to his face.

"N – no." He muttered. She was surprised that he was conscious enough to respond or to even breathe.

"I wouldn't think you would. You get your little minions to do your dirty work for you. It's monkshood. Wolf's bane, if you wish. Funny story; it's very poisonous." He paled to a sickly white and gulped. "Very poisonous and lethal. In large doses, that is. In small doses, you may be cured." She lied. It came easy to her; a sixth nature.

He brightened for a miniscule moment before slouching. "Why bother telling me this? I doubt you would cure me."

"You're correct." In a blur, she plunged her poisoned dagger forward and into his abdomen, making him gasp. "But you have helped me a great deal tonight, Sir Vladimir. I thank you for that. As reward, your death will come quickly. And I thank you for what your corpse shall bring me." She twisted the dagger in his body and he twitched, choking on his words. The light left his eyes and she snapped his neck, for good measure.

Isabella gathered her things together and strapped the body to Burnside, her faithful horse. Even though making her point was mostly a hoax, she achieved her primary goal. She brushed her horse's mane in thought. Burnside was lean with long legs, it's mottled, brown coat gleaming in the moonlight. She heaved herself up on the saddle and with a click of her heels; they sped off to the castle.

When they arrived undetected, she went into his office and dragged his body in the room, lighting a candle. Rapidly, she tied a noose and strung it over his neck, hanging his body from the ceiling. She withdrew the dagger and wiped off the blood with a rag. Rummaging in her pack once again, she withdrew a large, slightly heavy item wrapped in soft linen.

Isabella peeled the linen off the object, revealing a lead crown plated with gold and jewels encrusted in the side. It took some time to get the real jewels and gold and some favours, but it put its point across. She placed it on top of Vladimir's head, sneering to herself. Next, she brought out a piece of thick parchment, quill and inkwell. In elegant script reserved for these types of messages, she began to scrawl on the page. It was simply five words, but they would scream the loudest than anything else.

She folded the parchment and took the lone candle, letting the wax drip onto the fold. Before it could dry, she pressed her forged King's seal into the wax.

With a satisfied smirk, she placed the letter on Vladimir's corpse and stabbed the quill through the paper and into the corpse, effectively pinning it to the meaty flesh of his cold breast.

With her trademark red kiss on his cheek, she sped off on Burnside into the night.

BRIGAND

"Isabella!" Emily Uley yelled joyfully, whirling around the counter with a tray of mugs in her hand. From the stench of the room and the idiots stumbling and cheering boisterously, she guessed it was ale or rum.

"Emily, watch it!" She hissed out of the corner of her mouth. She glanced around the room to see if anyone had heard, but most of the customers were too far gone under the influence of alcohol to pay any attention to anything.

"Alright, I'm sorry." She placed the mugs in front of three men - who eyed her appreciatively, despite the scar running down her face – and took the empty ones from their grasp. "Marie! What are you doing here?" She amended with a dramatic flair in her voice.

Isabella preferred to be under the guise of her middle name rather than her first. She was renowned across the kingdom and had a hefty price over her head so she may be passed on to the Crown; dead or alive. If anyone knew that she was Isabella, there would be too many bodies to clean up after she finished defending herself. Luckily, no one had been able to properly identify her so there was no picture accompanying her wanted poster.

"I was around town so I figured I could stay here for the night. I prefer not to be travelling home in the dark." She explained.

Emily shook her head, her stray dark hair falling out of her bun. "No vacant rooms. There's a travelling circus passing through town that booked more than half of the tavern, some outsiders following in their wake. We have some cots in the back room, if that's alright with you."

Isabella nodded. "I just need a roof over my head and a place to sleep. It looks like it'll rain tonight." There was a crash of a glass and Emily winced. "Do you need help? It looks quite busy."

Emily bit her lip. "If it's alright with you. Circus folk tend to rile up the townspeople and they may still be continuing festivities until dawn. If you can shift in for Anna for a couple of hours, that would be great. She's been here since dawn and needs some sleep." She whirled in the other direction, eyes blazing. "Hey! If you want to break another mug, do that at your own home you bloody -" She stomped away.

Isabella scanned the room, her bottom lip catching in between her teeth. It was an awful habit of hers that she could never break when she was nervous. Dealing with drunken patrons was not one of her favourite hobbies, but she would endure for her lifelong friend.

Skimming the room, she sighed in relief when she saw the sandy-haired woman manning the bar. Isabella stuck against the wall and glided her way through the bodies, shuddering in disgust when one would brush up against her.

"Marie!" Anna exclaimed. She was not privy to Isabella's real name. "How are you?"

Isabella chuckled lightly, glancing across the room. "I should be asking you that. How are you handling the vast amount of drunken fools? I'd be ready to swoon by now."

Anna sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her head. "I'm honestly not sure about that myself. I'm dead-beat." At the loud grunt of a large oaf at the other end of the counter, Anna filled a mug with ale and slid it across the wood. A couple of coins replaced the mug's spot.

Isabella lifted the plank enclosing the server's side of the bar and slipped in, closing it behind her. She was familiar with the area by now; having stepped in for other server's when they needed the break. A relatively clean apron stuck out from a shelf below the counter so Isabella shrugged off her cloak and stuffed it into her pack, shoving it under the counter.

"Can you help me with the ties, Anna?" She asked, slipping the top loop around her neck and turning so the server-girl could aid her. Anna swiftly tied it into a knot and began filling mugs.

Isabella sighed. "Yes, you did. Please go. This isn't healthy for anyone. Emily told me you've been working here since dawn and you have a family to get home to." She began to untie Anna's apron, but Anna slapped her away.

"I can't just leave them to deal with this all by their lonesome!" She protested, handing another patron another mug of rum.

"No." Isabella said with finality. "You're being ridiculous. Emily said it was fine for you to go since I'm here to help, okay? Said I had to work off my room." She lied perfectly, smiling wryly.

After a few more feeble protests, Isabella got Anna out of her apron and into her outerwear. Night had fallen so it wasn't safe to be wandering out in the open by herself, so she sent Claire's husband, Quil to accompany her.

"Bella!" The kitchen door behind her swung open, nearly crashing against the wall. Isabella scowled at bother her name and the nearly collision.

She whirled around. "Samuel! What are you doing?" She nearly yelled. If he were to blow her entire cover because of his idiocy and boisterous personality, she would send him to the deepest pits of hell herself.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, Marie." He sighed, but then grinned as he swept her up in his arms and hopped in the spot. "God, I've missed you! Why haven't you visited more often?"

Isabella huffed as he set her on her feet. "If you greeted me appropriately, Samuel, maybe you would see me around more often."

"I called you Marie!" He protested.

"But you called me Bella." She shuddered. "You know how I favour Isabella much more. At least get my real name right, will you? And please call me Marie. And don't come barrelling into the room like a stupid buffoon; I'm sure Emily has told you that more than deemed necessary. And -"

"Okay, I got it!" He grinned down at her. "God, I have missed you and your loud mouth."

She raised her eyebrow and began wiping down a spot which a patron had left damp. "I recall Emily having a 'loud mouth' as well. Does she not have an effect on you anymore?"

Samuel rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. She still has the roof off the inn with those fantastic lungs." He lowered his voice and suddenly became solemn. "What business do you have back at La Push?"

Isabella nearly faltered in her movements but she recovered quickly, swiping coins off the glossy counter and shoving them into her apron pouch. "This is hardly any appropriate business to be discussed in public, Samuel, and you know it." She hissed under her breath.

Samuel's hand shot out so rapidly that Isabella barely had any time to dodge. He grasped her upper arm and dragged her through the bar and into the back room. Isabella followed obediently; which was a rarity. She crinkled her nose as the harsh smell of ale hit her nose.

"It is appropriate now." He said in a low voice. "Why are you here?"

Isabella smirked slightly, wrenching her arm out of his large hand. "Why, Samuel, you don't seem quite excited to see me now."

He softened considerably. "You know I am thrilled to see you. But you have not been to La Push for twelve months and not have sent any word of visiting or any word at all!" As he spoke his voice raised with each word.

"Calm down, Samuel! Goodness, you rival even Emily with your mouth." Isabella hissed, glancing back at the door to check if anyone had heard their rather large exchange. The tavern was still riotous and overwhelming, so she doubted anyone even caught wind that they were in there.

Samuel breathed heavy for a couple of moment before calming. "I apologize."

Isabella softened as well. "It's alright, Sam. I know you care dearly for me." She patted his muscled arm. "If you must know, I paid a little… visit to your amusing baron." She smiled slightly at the corpse that a maid would probably have found by now. "If you catch wind of his death, it wasn't me."

"You killed Sir Vladimir?" He gaped at her. "How did you get into the fort?" Though he was surprised, he wouldn't grieve over his death. Vladimir was not known for being a neither kind nor gracious baron.

Isabella shrugged. "William trained me well. I disguised myself as a farmer's daughter bringing in fresh vegetables to the castle – which was not a complete lie, I did bring in some vegetables – and hid in the underground crypt until nightfall. By then I was only within the walls, so I scaled the walls of his tower and into his room. I've been watching him for several days now; he never locked his window." She explained easily. It was almost laughable, but Isabella stopped herself. She indulged in enough maniacally laughing already.

"Does William know that you are here?" He demanded. If he were to know, La Push may very well explode under the force of an expected heated exchange.

Isabella's eyes darkened and rage bubbled up in her chest. "No, and I plan on it staying like that. Are you going to say anything?" She growled, threats of death laced in her voice.

Samuel captured his nail in between his teeth, chewing on it absentmindedly. "I will not lie, but I will not bring up the subject of you either. That is all you can ask of me." When she narrowed his eyes at him, he blanched. "You know he is like my father. I cannot lie to him."

She sighed in frustration. "I supposed that is good enough. I plan on leaving by dawn. I have other matters to be taken care of, you know. Other people to be killed. Money to be made." Although that coin were probably not to find residence in her own pocket. She, like the rest of her band of brigands, often gave what they could to the poor. No sense on wasting it on frivolous things.

He did not frown at his words since he had done his own fair-share of murder; had he not met and married Emily, he probably would still be terrorizing and pillaging the east side of the country. "That would be for the best, as William is coming in the afternoon."

Isabella gnawed on her lip. "What of Jacob?"

"He is still -" Samuel was cut off by the sound of shrill screams and grunting. He turned on his heel and burst out the back room doors just as Isabella sprang into action.

About seven large ruffians dressed in dark garb stood in the front of the tavern, each totting equally great swords and crossbows. They hid behind the cowls of their capes that hung to the floor, varying in darkness.

"The Volturi." Samuel hissed. "How in the bloody hell did they find her here?" He spotted Isabella's things behind the counter and dashed to retrieve them, tossing her belongings in her direction. He sprinted back to her. "It's the Volturi. You need to leave, now, before they let you rot in jail."

"Bloody hell," Isabella hissed, not bothering with the ties of her apron and just sliced it off with her dagger. She quickly slid into her own mottled cloak, strapped her daggers to her hip and slung her quiver of arrows on her back. She gripped her bow tightly. "This might be a blood bath."

"You won't be doing this alone. Some bastard must not have been as drunk as I thought. Someone must have heard me call you Isabella." He declared, reaching behind a barrel of ale and withdrawing an impressive blade that glinted in the dimmed light filtering in from the tavern. Samuel felt the guilt bubbling up in him; he was undoubtedly the loudest in the tavern and the densest. He did not doubt that it was him who tipped off a suspicious and slimy patron.

"No." She placed her hand on his arm. "Stealth is the key here. There are too many for just two of us to battle. I sent Quil to go and take Anna home." Isabella clenched her jaw. "It is probably not your fault. The Volturi would not be in La Push unless there was a reason to. I suspected that they would be following me, but I did not think they would be this close. Also, there are many Isabella's in La Push. They must've been on my trail for a while now; much longer than I thought. I was too focused on Vladimir to notice it. Damn myself and my love for torturing disgusting swine." She hissed and then placed a hand on his arm. "I'll be at Ralph Single Hand's port handling a shipment of weapons I need. I'm guessing the circus folk shall be performing sometime soon?"

Samuel nodded. "In two days, I believe, in the market square."

She bit her lip. "Alright then. If you find out anything about how they happened on my trail, you let me know. I'll be there." Isabella pulled him in for a hug. "So, is there a way out?"

He pulled at his dark locks, cursing under his breath. "Okay, go through the back. The door to this room is somewhat hidden by the staircase, so you should be able to slip out undetected."

Isabella nodded and pulled her cowl up, covering half of her face. Stepping onto her toes, she pecked him gently on the cheek. "Thank you for everything, Sam. Good luck."

He hugged her. "May it follow you as well."

Isabella slinked out of the back room, moulding herself of the shadows of the wall. Samuel was right; the staircase impaired the Volturi from seeing her sneak out.

"What is going on here?" Emily demanded, bursting out from the kitchen.

The cloaked person at the front pushed back their cowl to reveal bright blue eyes that twinkled with malevolency and blonde hair pulled back in a braid. "We hear of Isabella Swan in these parts."

Understanding flashed in Emily's eyes but she quelled it. "That bandit? Why would I ever let her into my tavern?" She spat, disgusting tangled in her voice. Emily was a good fibber; when you married a retired bandit, you learn to lie.

Isabella was already out the back door and made her way to the stables where Burnside was awake and aware, as if he knew that she needed him. She saddled up and clicked her heels into his side as they sped away from La Push.

A/N: I've read so many fanfics, it's not even funny. I've hated every single one with a weak, dependent Bella. There's nothing wrong with that, being dependent, but I hate it when it's to a point where she can't function without Edward/Jake. This Bella is badass and does not give a fuck. She's a bandit; and extraordinary one at that. She doesn't do it for no reason though, I'll tell you that now. ;)

Please review if you like it, it's my first attempt at fanfiction so I'll do my best. :) Yes, I know that there are some historical mistakes, whether it is in this chapter or will be in the next chapters. I'll do my best to avoid them.

Thanks,

-A

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.